What It’s Really Like to Live with Bipolar II: A Personal Essay

Some mornings, I feel like I can take on the world. I wake up before the sun, head full of ideas — a new logo design, a business concept, a mental health journal I want to launch. My brain won’t shut up, but for once, I don’t mind. I feel driven, inspired, alive.

Other mornings, I can’t get out of bed. My limbs feel like cement. Everything I once cared about — creating, helping others, even just brushing my teeth — feels impossibly far away. I can’t find the energy to fake normal, let alone be productive.

This is what it’s like to live with Bipolar II. Not the dramatic, chaotic version you see on TV. But the quieter, lonelier kind that flips between hypomania and depression without warning — and often without anyone noticing.

Misunderstood from the Start

Bipolar II is hard to explain. When people hear “bipolar,” they usually think of Bipolar I — the kind with full-blown mania. What I experience is different. It’s more subtle, but just as real.

I’m not throwing tantrums or breaking things. I’m overcommitting, oversharing, staying up until 3 a.m. redesigning my website for the third time this week. Then I crash. Hard.

For the longest time, I thought I was just “too sensitive” or “lazy.” People saw the highs — the creativity, the passion, the drive — and praised me. They didn’t see the cost. They didn’t see me crying on the bathroom floor, or disappearing for days because I couldn’t face anything.

The Highs That Look Like Hustle

Hypomania can feel like a gift… at first. I become a machine. I build things. I create. I don’t need sleep. I feel like I finally have momentum. But it’s never sustainable.

Behind the scenes, I’m spending money I don’t have. I’m burning myself out on projects that might never launch. I’m making promises I can’t keep because I genuinely believe I’ll be fine — until I’m not.

I once mapped out an entire product line, branding, social media strategy, and journal templates for Moodnest in a single night. It felt euphoric — like this is what I was born to do. The next day, I couldn’t open my laptop.

The Lows That Steal the Color

Depression doesn’t always look like crying in bed. Sometimes, it’s just nothing. Numbness. Existing without purpose.

I try to show up for myself, but even the smallest task feels like a mountain. I go quiet. I isolate. I watch my dreams pile up and wonder if I was delusional to believe in them in the first place.

I hate how bipolar tricks you into thinking you’re either unstoppable or worthless. There’s rarely a middle ground. And yet, I keep trying to find one.

Living With It — Not Against It

It took me a long time to stop fighting this part of myself. I wanted to be “normal,” whatever that means. But now, I try to meet myself where I am.

I track my moods. I build gentle routines. I stop glamorizing my hypomanic states and try to rest when I feel the energy spike. I’ve learned that just because I can do everything doesn’t mean I should.

Journaling has saved me more times than I can count. So has designing — using creativity as a way to process the chaos inside. And medication, therapy, and support systems? They matter. A lot.

You’re Not Alone

If you’re reading this and you’re tired, please know: you’re not broken.

Bipolar II is real. It’s messy. It’s exhausting. But it doesn’t make you less worthy or less capable.

I’m still figuring it out. I still have bad days. But I also have days where I remember why I keep going. Why I keep creating. Why I want to build Moodnest and share my story.

Because someone out there needs to know they’re not the only one.

One mood, one breath, one day at a time — that’s how we do this.